


Starting Again

by SophinaBlackwood



Series: Pride and the Prince [5]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/SophinaBlackwood
Summary: Mustafa's hurting and upset after his loss in the gauntlet match. Jack has had something on his mind for a while.





	Starting Again

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after episode 74, please watch it first if you haven't already!

"Let me drive you back to the hotel."

Mustafa shook his head. "I want to get a drink."

"You can barely walk!" Jack exacerbated. Mustafa rarely drunk. Not even after Wrestlemania, when offered. Almost as if agreeing to a drink was admitting defeat.

"I want to go to a jazz bar," Mustafa looked up to him with a wry smile. Jack's heart twisted painfully. It was something he had sweetly suggested the two of them do when they had been courting. Jack never ended up coming through on that promise.

“We can go next week?” Jack tried to reason. Hopefully next week they’d be somewhere where jazz would be easy to come by, like New York or New Orleans-

“No,” Mustafa said roughly, “My entire body hurts and I want a fucking drink.”

If Jack were less of a gentleman, he would’ve rolled his eyes. But he was a toff through and through, so he just scoffed under his breath. That really wasn’t fair- what, with Mustafa’s advantage and all...

That Jack could never say no to Mustafa.

Amazingly, there _was_ a jazz bar a short five minute drive away, and when they arrived, a booth had already been reserved for them, despite that they were apparently “very late”. It was a pretty little bar, dimly lit with hues of red brick walls and wooden floors. The five piece band was currently playing a smooth tune to the beat of a rhythmic snare. Jack ordered a scotch as they were shown their table by a smartly dressed waiter, and Mustafa held up his fingers to make it two.

“You already planned this?” Jack wondered, helping Mustafa into his seat, and his jaw tightened as Mustafa winced on the slow way down.

“Yes,” Mustafa said, adjusting himself gingerly. “We were supposed to come here to celebrate when I won the gauntlet.” He wouldn’t look at Jack, instead staring into a flickering candle in the middle of the table. He thread his fingers in and around the open flame.

“There’s nothing else we can celebrate?” Jack wondered, trying to disperse the dark cloud above Mustafa’s head.

“Like?”

“You wrestled at Wrestlemania.”

“I lost, Jack,” Mustafa muttered into his scotch, still refusing to look at the gentleman.

Jack sighed hopelessly, dropping his cheek into his palm and staring out to where the band was now playing a light, bopping tune. His other hand tapped away on the table lightly to the beat. His relationship with Mustafa had been _rocky_ of late, to say the least. They had slept together the night of their tournament match, and in the morning, Mustafa had told him it couldn’t turn into anything more before promptly leaving.

Jack had been saddened by that, oddly. He supposed he thought if he’d made an effort to open up a channel of intimacy with Mustafa again, he would’ve been taken back gladly. But of course, it was all going to be far more complicated. Mustafa was a man with “purpose” now, and anything that wasn’t the Championship didn’t factor into his mission.

“ _Serves me right, then,_ ” Jack breathed, downing a long sip of scotch that warmed his throat from the bitterness of the company.

“Do you think Drew and Tony will make-up?” Mustafa broke the long silence. “I’m worried about Tony.”

Jack grit his teeth. “I don’t want to talk about them, if I’m being rather honest.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m here with you, not them,” Jack griped shortly, and Mustafa finally turned to look at him, a distant regret in his wounded expression. “Why are you suddenly so concerned with Tony’s wellbeing, anyhow?”

“I suppose I know what it’s like to lose a friend so suddenly,” Mustafa said, so quietly Jack nearly missed it over the sound of the band.

_Oh.._ That hurt. 

So, it wasn’t really about Tony after all.

“I buggered up,” Jack said. “I’m _trying_.”

“Why don’t we just enjoy the music?” Mustafa said emotionlessly, finishing his drink and motioning for another round.

“Suppose I’m designated driver, no?” Jack muttered.

Mustafa shrugged. “It’s the least you could do.”

Jack opened his mouth to spit something indignant back, but the band began to play Sing, Sing, Sing by Benny Goodman comically loud and Mustafa turned to give the musicians his undivided attention.

With no one looking, Jack finally let out the eyeroll he’d been holding onto for an hour. If they’d been on better terms, Jack might have asked Mustafa for a dance. He wondered if the Chicago native even knew how to jive to swing music. The visual made him smile, even if the reality made his heart ache.

It was a warm touch on his pinky finger that made Jack’s gaze shoot down to his hand. Mustafa’s pinky had been gently laid across his own, though Mustafa continued to stare out at the band. As if it had been an accident, though it couldn’t possibly be. 

Jack curled his finger around the other and a small smile twitched at the edge of Mustafa’s mouth. Though Jack’s insides rocked with desire- a desire to push Mustafa to the floor and pound him with the rhythm of the big band’s beat- he refrained. Mustafa was still fragile over what had happened, and forgiveness was not going to be as easy a road as Jack once assumed.

Their hands stayed in that position until Mustafa was nearly finished with his third drink and a woman in a red dress was singing a lovely rendition of Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me To The Moon. Mustafa placed his glass down and swiveled to look at Jack. They were closer than Jack originally thought they had been (perhaps they’d inched closer to each other naturally as more drinks and music had been consumed).

Jack slowly moved his hand up Mustafa’s arm to nestle behind his elbow. Mustafa’s eyes were soft and shining, his cheeks speckled with a rosy flush.

“Mr. Ali, if I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were tipsy,” Jack smiled gently.

“Is that what that tingling feeling is?” Mustafa wondered, gaze flicking down to Jack’s mouth for a fleeting second.

Jack licked his bottom lip absent-mindedly and leant forward a little; an invitation, the ball in Mustafa’s court. His heart jumped a little when Mustafa inched forward, then hesitated. “Don’t look away from me. Don’t worry about anyone else,” Jack murmured, holding Mustafa’s elbow a little tighter, hoping to ground his doubts.

“I’m...”

“Mustafa,” Jack whispered, sweeping his long, unruly hair behind an ear. His hand slid down Mustafa’s cheek, thumb lightly caressing the stubbled skin.

Mustafa met Jack’s lips, kissing chastly, and intensity shoot through Jack’s body, like fireworks, as if it were a first kiss. Mustafa pressed against the corner of his mouth, then ran his tongue along the inside of Jack’s lower lip. Really, it was unfair how good Mustafa was at kissing.

How good Mustafa was at everything.

Jack pulled away with a small smile and a shaky breath. His hand squeezed into the crook of Mustafa’s neck. “I’m a little worked up,” he said bashfully.

“Yes, that’s never been very hard with you,” Mustafa teased, fixing the curl of Jack’s moustache with his lovely fingers.

“Cheeky.”

Mustafa shrugged nonchalantly.

“My door is always unlocked for you, I want you to know that,” Jack said seriously. Mustafa’s expression flashed, unsure. “I just.. I want us to have a clean slate, but I understand it must be on your terms.”

“I don’t know, Jack,” Mustafa tried to look away but Jack cupped his jaw to drag their eyes back together.

“Just know it’s open. Please,” Jack said, taking one of Mustafa’s hands in both of his. “No pressure. You focus on what you have to focus on but... I- I’m here. If you need…”

Mustafa bent his head to place a kiss on the top of Jack’s thumb and then pressed his forehead against Jack’s hands. “Let me think about it.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded. That was a positive step, at least. He released Mustafa’s hand and flashed a smirk. “I’m going to go piss, or else I’ll explode.”

Mustafa laughed, swivelling the last bit of scotch in his glass. “We don’t want that.”

Jack turned back to look at Mustafa as he crossed the floor to the restrooms and was taken aback by how impossibly beautiful the man was, illuminated in the fiery hues of the jazz bar. As if he knew, Mustafa’s dark eyes flicked up at Jack from the phone in his hands, face breaking out into an enchanting smile that was perfectly Mustafa.

A sweet moment positively ruined when Jack’s phone buzzed in his pocket, only to discover that Mustafa had caught him with the TV Show superzoom filter as he’d been walking to the bathroom.

**I’ll get you for that.** Jack DMed as he pushed through the door.

**Please do ;)** Mustafa messaged back instantly.


End file.
